the tree

once apon a time in a land very close to home a young girl sat and swayed low in the old swing on the street its twisted rope gnarled and rubbed at her hands as she gripped it swaying ever higher higher towards were the tree had swallowed it up growing all around and into the rope so that is swung down like a golden necklace, discolored and thinning angel incarnate a breathing trinket at its helm the wind blowing off the dead heat of the setting sun made her whip her head and look up into the shelter of the tree for many years it had stood there swaying and spreading and thriving all for its own purpose but today, it had given the last of its great strength to the little rope swaying ow so gently and to the little girl resting ow so peacefully on that splintered board that snagged and bit at her legs but the tree had grown weak and the bugs and vines had leeched his strength from him long ago and in the joyful peak of her swaying pivot she reached level with the dieing branch and with the last moaning crack of defeat set it free from the tortured life it had lived

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